02

The Crystal Palace

by Simon Underfoot

Copyright 2024; all rights reserved

Author's note:

This is my take on a mind control tale, ridiculous and far fetched, but not quite reaching the realm of magic. As with all my submissions, the story is complete and chapters will be posted regularly. Feedback and comments are welcome and greatly appreciated.

Cheers,

Simon

Chapter 1

It was not a good idea. What's more, I knew in the moment it wasn't a good idea, but my boss was giving me an exasperated look as she held the elevator door, the toe of her shiny black pumps tap-tap-tapping.

"Listen, Jill," I tried again, resisting the impulse to wring my hands, "I'll just take the stairs like I always do. It's good for me."

"Walking down twelve flights after a fourteen hour day is ridiculous."

Excuses raced laps round my mind competing for the win, but I could see she was quickly moving past annoyance. "Yes, ma'am."

As the door closed, I saw Jill purse her lips, at least a little hurt. "Am I really so bad that you won't spend a minute in an elevator with me?"

"That's not it at all..." I started, then trailed off. In the tightly confined space, after an entire day spent hauling boxes from one office to another thanks to a top-down restructure, and with little or no ventilation, there was no way she wouldn't be Affected. She sniffed unconsciously, her brow furrowing while a flush crept gradually up her neck.

"I..." she managed as her pupils started to dilate. "Woah... feeling a little dizzy." She leaned back against the elevator's mirror wall and I shuffled quickly to her side, making sure she didn't fall. The blush reached her cheeks as sweat began to bead on her forehead; goosebumps raised on her bare arms. She looked at me with eyes quickly becoming heavy, more aware than was my typical experience. "You?"

Pain, embarrassment, frustration.

It must have shown because Jill tried to comfort me, pulling me to her side. An involuntary moan escaped and she held tighter, nuzzling a cheek into my shoulder. I was beginning to panic as the elevator finally chimed, its door opening to the lobby. Being late, there was no one around to see us, so I took her elbow and marched her to a sitting couch, then backed away.

"I'm sorry, Jill."

"Was my fault," she countered with slightly slurred speech as she waved my guilt away. "I've been feeling it for weeks... didn't know it was you. Was so confused." She looked up at me and I could see she was trying hard to focus. "Why don't you wear red?" The question wasn't an accusation, but it felt like one all the same.

I shook my head, not wanting to get into such a personal topic with my boss.

"You'd look good in red," she mused, a little sappy. Without my direct intervention, it would be several hours until she regained her full faculties. "Wear it tomorrow... for me. Please?"

She didn't understand what she was asking, but I would do it. She was the best boss I'd ever had, and if not exactly a friend, definitely a mentor. "Let me call you a ride," I said, taking out my phone.

"I can drive," she insisted as she pulled out her keys, which she immediately dropped to the floor. "Oh."

A minute later a car was on its way, which left fifteen more to kill. I made it five before she demanded I sit next to her, at which point she pasted herself to my side, nuzzling into me and making sweet grunts. "Come home with me," she offered. I declined as politely as I could, so she tried again, demanding. Then cajoling. Then whining.

I'd been through it all before and inadvertently screwed up a couple friendships. Ironically, the consequences for getting the rejection wrong had been worse than when I'd given in to temptation.

As I finally loaded her into the vehicle she managed a moment of clarity. "Eight o'clock, my office."

I barely slept that night.

I didn't work out when morning came, opting to stay in bed, fretting about the pending confrontation.

I tried to eat, only managing half a banana and a cup of coffee before my knotted stomach informed me breakfast was over.

Staring into the bedroom closet, my eyes locked on the one piece of crimson clothing I still owned, an ostentatious button down with flared collars. It was the kind of thing a cocky twenty-one year old Afflicted man would wear, and I wasn't him anymore. I only kept it because it reminded me of one particularly amazing night.

But my boss had told me to wear red, so after pulling on a standard white Oxford, I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer, removing and donning the braided crimson bracelet my one and only girlfriend had made for me. I hid it under my shirt sleeve, knowing I wasn't following the spirit of Jill's request.

Taking the elevator, I arrived at my desk at quarter after seven, just like normal. I putzed around on my computer for a while, sending emails, billing time, reading internal memos. At five til I made my way out of the small cubicle farm that was my work neighborhood.

Out I went, into the main hall and to the the first office in manager country, enough to have a title but not a personal assistant.

I knocked lightly.

"Come in."

Seeing Jill behind her desk, my heart nearly stopped.

"Turn about's fair play," she said with a smirk, pushing her chair back and standing. I nearly fainted as she walked around the desk, leaning smugly against its top. Her entire outfit looked like a parody of business casual. Deep cleavage showed between the gap in a fitted black blazer; the dark gray skirt revealed pale skin to mid thigh; the glossy yellow pumps accentuated her legs perfectly. "I thought I told you to wear red."

I shook out the bracelet from my sleeve, not meeting her eyes.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," she chastised gently, then sighed. "We need to talk about it, Joe."

I nodded, because there really wasn't anything for me to say. Not yet anyway.

"You're Afflicted." A statement, not a question, so I didn't respond. "What happened yesterday?"

This time it was me that sighed. "Every morning I shower, put on antiperspirant, use talc. I do it again at lunch down in the fitness area's locker room." I met her eyes. "The pheromones are always there, so anything I do to wash them away or absorb them helps for a while, but it isn't permanent. Yesterday was busy and I was sweaty from moving stuff around."

"That's why you didn't want to ride in the elevator." I nodded.

"So you weren't rejecting me?" Her salacious grin was almost a pout and my already hardening penis jumped while my throat went dry. "Did you know HR has special rules for dealing with Afflicted?" I was still reeling and was slow in answering and she amped up the sultriness in her expression. Breaking eye contact, she put on a pair of sleek wire rimmed readers, then flipped through a packet of papers, settling on a page.

"Due to the nature of Affliction, it is not always possible to maintain previously accepted norms for workplace behavior, especially as pertain to personal space, physical contact, and/or sexual acts during working hours or while performing work duties. Furthermore, interactions between coworkers, including supervisor-subordinate relationships, must be flexible to meet the needs of both Afflicted and Affected parties.

"Afflicted employees are strongly encouraged to wear crimson clothing in accordance with social norms so that coworkers have the opportunity to remove themselves from the immediate proximity. If a coworker does become Affected, behavior will be guided based on the mutual decision of employees involved, preferably witnessed by a third party to provide an unbiased account of the encounter.

"So long as all participants willingly consent to consequent activities, sexual or otherwise, no disciplinary action will be taken by the Firm, even if one of the parties has been Affected without their knowledge or previous consent."

Jill looked up at me and removed her glasses, tapping her lip with the arm. "Do you know what I did last night?" I didn't answer, but I had an idea. She slowly undid the three silver buttons on her jacket, exposing herself a little at a time. "Four hours, Joe -- I masturbated for four straight hours." She pulled off her top and laid it on the desk with precise movements, letting me take in her beautiful frame, the highlight being her perfectly proportioned breasts hidden behind white lace.

She let me stare for a minute, maybe more, then came around in front of me a second time. I was struggling to breathe, my heart racing -- I could almost smell the pheromones my overactive androstene system was pumping out. Jill slowly pushed her skirt down, revealing nothing underneath but a trimmed bush of chestnut curls, which she showed to me by sitting back on the desktop and spreading her legs wide. She was already fully aroused, her lips engorged and clitoris prominent. The blush I'd seen the night before covered her entire chest, neck, and cheeks.

"There's no going back," I warned while unbuttoning my shirt, moving slowly to give her time to change her mind, though I was certain she wouldn't. We were well past the return point -- now it was just a matter of how long we held off before crashing together.

It was less than a minute. I think it was Jill that broke, but my recollection is fuzzy.

I do remember that first kiss, hungry and desperate, hands pulling my hair hard enough to hurt. I'd hoped the partial resistance she'd shown in the elevator might be significant, a clue she wasn't like other women I'd Affected, but her desire was, if anything, amplified from the norm.

Knowing she'd continue to escalate if I didn't intervene, I wrapped Jill in my arms, immobilizing her, then leaned forward until she was pinned to the desk. Her lovely brown eyes flared, not just with passion, but also defiance, which sent my heart racing. Our gazes locked for a long moment as I fought to calm down -- if I gave in to my urges this could easily become an out of control experience that left us both injured.

Deep breathing to reset, then I leaned in gradually.

She surged forward with her mouth, trying to capture my lips, by I was ready, restraining her until she settled again. "Slow."

Her eyes flashed brightly before she nodded.

I repeated the motion, unhurriedly bending forward, pausing close enough to feel her ragged breath. The softest touch of lips.

She moaned into our chaste kiss, which evolved into a deeper, mind altering proclamation of lust and affection from us both. I leaned away, my head swimming, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Let me go," she demanded huskily.

A moment's pause and I unclasped my hands and rolled my shoulders, sagging in relief -- I'd been unaware of how hard she'd been straining against me.

Meeting her eyes once more, I found them half lidded, but still focused. She began moving her lower half, dragging knees up my hips and finally locking me in place with her ankles. My cock, now angry and red, was fully erect and I cringed inwardly as the trickle began, mortified even in my own haze of arousal.

The first drop fell from the head, landing just below her belly button, followed a few seconds later by another. The unashamedly greedy look I saw in her eyes made it clear she knew what was happening.

There was literally nothing I could do to stop it -- nothing any Afflicted could do -- once it started. The trickle would pick up speed depending on how fast we progressed, for all intents pure liquid pheromones, dozens of times more potent than what had entered via her olfactory pathway.

A quick trick with her legs and hips and I found myself somehow nestled in her folds. It'd happened so quickly and with such skill that I barely registered the change until she pulled me forward with her feet. Fully seated, I felt the trickle increase as my arousal grew, warmth now radiating from my member constantly.

Jill's breath was coming in irregular, staccato gasps, but she still had her faculties as she reached for my neck. I allowed myself to be guided back to her lips and we resumed the lusty kiss I'd abandoned.

An unspoken suggestion by way of her ankles had me rocking my hips and hers without completely disengaging. Still the kiss remained controlled, passionate without the desperation that usually accompanied these encounters. I tried to focus on it, but was rapidly becoming lost to the sensations.

I pulled my hips back, then slid home again, drawing a growl from Jill though our lips hadn't parted. Again, and I felt liquid hit my legs, displaced from her pussy. The trickle had become a near constant drip, setting the nerve endings in my cock aflame, the same sensation as a mild orgasm that could stretch for as long as we held out. Still we continued slowly, devouring one another.

Now it was my motions that became jerky at the prolonged play and I started to worry, back in my hindbrain, that something was wrong. The Juice should have entered her system by now, should be rapidly metabolizing, ought to be driving her to frenzy. I dreaded the inevitability of it, the utter helplessness of my partners to resist, yet my ego craved it. I needed to feel her come undone with my hard cock inside her, shooting unadulterated sex potion directly into her quim.

I slammed forward, a thrust that sounded very loud in her office. We paused, eyes locked. Five seconds, not more, then a flurry of movement, thrusting, biting, scratching. We ended up on the floor, rolling, mindlessly competing for dominance. She was on top, fucking down on my dick when the Juice finally hit her. Jill's entire body locked up, squeezing down so hard that the flow into her pussy cut off painfully. Whole body spasms racked her as she convulsed on me; tears flowed down her cheeks while beads of liquid formed at her nipples. With a loud gasp she fell forward to my chest, disengaging, releasing a torrent of our combined fluids.

She continued to shake with the aftershocks of orgasm, clinging mindlessly to me. I continued to shake with unmet need.

"Jill?" Begging, but I didn't care. Affected men had died from delaying their orgasms too long and I hadn't been this aroused in years. The amount of Juice spilling from my cock was obscene, bordering on absurd. I could feel myself becoming light headed. "Jill?"

She nodded. Probably.

In seconds I was on top, pounding into her frantically, out of my mind. With my own cry I came, stars appearing as I pumped out cum. Another thrust or two and I noticed black on the edges of my vision while my sight narrowed. I rolled to the side, not wanting to crush Jill beneath me as the darkness stole control.

---

Waking wasn't pleasant: someone was kicking my hip with the hard toe of their boot.

Blurry vision cleared slowly and I was looking up at a person in a white plastic suit, complete with respirator. "Wha--?"

Seeing I had regained consciousness, they turned away, heading toward the door. I was still frazzled and a bit light headed, but managed to stand by using Jill's desk for support. In front of me, bright sunshine streamed through the office's open windows; behind me the door closed.

I shut my eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Time to take stock.

Everything hurt. I could feel scrapes and scratches and bruises, even without touching them. Muscles felt strained. And I was really, really tired.

Opening my eyes again, I took in the room. The generic industrial carpet beneath me was squished when I shifted my weight -- it would need to be thoroughly decontaminated before the office would be usable again. On the desktop were two towels and some alcohol wipes, obviously for me to clean up. Jill's clothing was strewn throughout the space: blazer still on the desk, skirt on the floor, heels by the extra chair. Except there was a second skirt by the door and the heels by my foot were black.

"Shit." Someone else must have come to check on us and got caught up by the pheromones, which explained the hazmat suit.

I wiiped myself down as best I could. There weren't any spare clothes for me to use and mine were soaked, likely to cause a riot if I tried to wear them again.

Time for the walk of shame.

I wrapped the towel around myself, sucked in my stomach, pushed back my shoulders, and stepped through the door.

A dozen women waited for me -- maybe more -- wearing expressions ranging from curiosity to excitement. This kind of thing doesn't often happen in accounting offices. At least I don't think it does.

"Is Jill okay?"

"She'll be fine," answered Patty, our office manager, as she walked up with a plain white robe. "She's getting some IV fluids."

I took the garment gladly, then paused. "Why didn't you leave this next to the towels?" Rather than respond, she smirked and gave me a cheeky little shrug, which immediately changed my assessment of the middle aged woman's sex appeal. I rolled my eyes and turned around, trying not to put on too much of a show for the peanut gallery.

"Did somebody else get caught up in... you know?"

"Deirdre wanted to make sure Jill was okay and got a little too close. She's getting an IV, too." I wondered briefly if she'd joined in or just watched, but it didn't really matter at this point.

I nodded as I spun back to face my coworkers. "I'm glad she's okay." Deirdre wasn't someone I knew very well, but she seemed nice enough. "So what now?"

"Now the bio team cleans up Jill's office, burns her stuff, and we get back to work." Patty flicked her gaze over her shoulder and I saw for the first time that it was two guys in the biohazard suits, sipping coffee with disgusted looks on their faces while they waited for the show to finish. I offered them an embarrassed nod and quickly turned back to Patty. "That's it?"

"Well," she said, stepping into my personal space, "a few of us do have some questions. Just curiosity, really. Afflicted men aren't that common, you know."

"I... yeah."

It suddenly felt like I was tied to the tracks, just waiting for the train to come. I sighed. "Front conference room?" That smirk again and Patty took my hand, guiding me down the hallway, but not toward cubicle land like I'd expected. Behind us I heard an excited yip and shuffling feet.

In a dozen steps I was as far as I'd ever been into executive country. On my right was Wanda's door -- my VP -- I'd met her twice.

Still Patty pulled me along, passing a dozen more offices belonging to mid-level managers before rounding the bend. I stopped without thinking about it. This was basically hallowed ground: the Crystal Palace, land of offices with floor to ceiling windows, handmade furnishings, and hundred thousand dollar artwork. So went the stories anyway. On my right a brass nameplate proclaimed the suite belonged to the Senior VP of Marketing; likewise, the Head of Sales was situated to the left. And straight ahead, at the end of the hundred foot long hallway, a set of double doors leading to the CEO's personal domain.

I glanced behind me and found our procession had picked up new faces, all women, all looking at me. I only recognized a half dozen of them.

Off we went again, passing office after office with their closed, frosted glass doors. My heart started to pick up speed as our destination loomed -- I half expected the CEO to greet me as we approached. I exhaled loudly as Patty stopped and knocked gently upon the final door on the right. Then I read the nameplate: Virginia Welles, Senior VP of Human Resources. I looked to Patty, eyes wide, accusing and begging with the same stare.

She started to speak and was interrupted by a sweet voice from within. "Come in." Patty's gaze met mine for a moment before she dropped my hand and opened the door -- it had almost looked like sympathy. A light push on my back had me stepping forward reluctantly, into a receiving room staffed by a lovely short-haired blonde with vibrant eyes and a dark suit. "She's expecting you." Innocuous words stated brightly; my stomach clenched immediately at the implication. Was I about to be let go... again?